Thursday, December 13, 2007

Too Good To Be True

Who enjoys cheap schadenfreude? Hit up this link on Beliefnet (I'm a big, big Beliefnet guy) and read the headline. Then read the byline.

Ah fuck it, I'll just print it here. The headline:

Living a Pure Life

The byline:

By Andy Pettitte and Bob Reccord with Mark Tabb

Can you believe Mark Tabb co-wrote this article?!?! The irony!

As a Christian I also have one goal. I want to fulfill God's purpose for my life. I constantly ask myself "What does God want me to do?"

Then God came to me in the middle of the night. He took the form of a beautiful woman, the most beautiful I'd ever seen. I was nervous, because what happens if seeing God gives you a boner? Is it a sin or does He/She understand and just chuckle to Him/Herself a little bit? But I didn't have to worry. Gorgeous She-God wasn't there to tempt me. He/She whispered in my ear three letters: HGH. Before I could explain to Him/Her that HGH was against the rules of baseball, God Woman was gone.

The next day, I saw God again. This time, God appeared in the form of my teammate, good friend, and hunting buddy, Roger Clemens. "Andy," God said, "I've been doing a lot of steroids. Like a literal buttload. Like a million trillion billion steroids. Unless you do steroids, too, I won't be your good friend and hunting buddy anymore." I nodded. God was so wise. He knew how much I needed a hunting buddy.

Finally, I saw God again the day after that. He took the form of my trainer, Brian McNamee. God said, "Don't worry, you'll love this needle. Roger says it's the softest one." So I let God do what He had to do. That's just one of the sacrifices you have to make when you make pleasing God Job Number One.

Those may sound like odd questions to ask in a book about purity. After all, doesn't purity just mean sexual purity? Hardly.

It also means you can only inject the purest HGH. I always ran my HGH through three Brita filters and then took it to a priest to get it blessed. Holy HGH, or HGodH as I call it, was the only chemical I would allow in my pure veins. I knew God would approve. In fact, a lot of my teammates started calling me HGodH. I beamed with pride whenever this would happen.

The question of God's purpose for my life both today and for the rest of my life makes everything else secondary, even baseball.

See, baseball was always secondary to me. Secondary to my moral code, my religion, my health, my family's respect for me. Secondary to my desire to have Roger think I was "cool," not "an uptight Christ-y dork." Baseball is just a sport, a sport with made-up "rules" written by human beings. America is just a country, a country with made-up "laws" written by other human beings.

God plays by his own rules, folks. And HGH is fucking legal as hell up in heaven. Babe Ruth holds the Heaven Baseball League single season record for homers with 446. And in heaven, the season is one game long.

Don't get me wrong. I know the Lord wants me to play baseball. After all, a man needs to have a job. But my career won't last forever. Eventually my life will take another turn. When that time comes, God's plan for me and my family will come first. With every decision I make I have to think about what the longterm effects will be.

Those effects include liver damage, hypogonadism, depression, enlarged heart, and a legacy forever tarnished. Is it worth it, God?

God (turns into a giant, anthropomorphic smiley-faced syringe): Does this answer your question?